Things could be better

I am getting the sneaking suspicion that pursuing a relationship with an honest to goodness bear might not be the best game plan for life. Fortunately, this has rarely deterred me from pursuing anything, including wearing fire-engine red parachute pants. Besides, I am not what you might describe as a “provider” and, given that I am currently living in my Hyundai, knowing someone who knows what nuts and berries can be eaten safely is a definite plus.

Not that I have to make any life-altering decisions today, as it is Mother’s Day. The one day I need to do something I avoid all year—eating my mother’s cooking. The abhorrence of Mother’s Day is not that it forces us to do (pay respect to the one that gave us life) and say (I love you in spite of your cooking prowess) the things we should be all year long. No, it is that we also have to spend the day with whoever those mothers have decided are important in their lives. These are usually the opposite of the kind of people you would choose to fill these places in your own life. But, this is her big day, so I bid the Bear adieu and ask that he watch my cat for me.

“What about my family?” he asks.

“You’re a bear. Do you even have a family?” This appears to upset him and I really need him to watch my cat so I offer to bring him back a special treat upon my return. This seems to cheer him up. Joke’s on him though. The treat will come from my mother’s kitchen. She is not the Lara Croft of the culinary world.

But, like I was saying, it isn’t my mother I have a problem with. It isn’t even her cooking. The issue will be her twitchy live-in lover. My mother chose him because she can snap him like a twig if she ever needs to. Having watched UFC, I would love to see this and I keep getting my hopes up only to have them crushed when a visitation goes smoothly.

As I pull my own twitchy live-in lover (my Hyundai) into their driveway I remember that a few things have gone on recently that will rile the rickety old man up. The first being that we just had an election and the second being that bin Laden affair last week. The stand-by is that he is always riled up by something, but at least today we will have something entertaining to battle over.

“Happy Mothers’ Day!” I squeal, thrusting a bushel of flowers that resemble her neighbour’s garden and a bottle of Peele River’s finest red wine at her. She stares critically at the bottle and suggests we make Daiquiris instead. Neither of us are what you would call “big drinkers”, which certainly helps our cause if we are going to break open the shittiest wine in America (which was enough of an endorsement for me to purchase two bottles—one for the lonely Bear).

“You know what your fucking problem is?” my mother begins. I love this question. Like my “inquisitive” mother has the real scoop on what is fucked up in my life. I live in my car and think my closest relationship is with a fucking bear. Yes, please help me to pin-point where this particular train derailed. “You need to think more positively. Then good things will come to you!”

I glance over and see that the rickety house guest has given her a copy of The Secret for Mothers’ Day. It makes sense, so I play along. This whole day would be a lot better with a buffer though, so I ask her about my brother, Darla, who would have been here except he found himself in the slammer for the weekend as the result of some ridiculous pyramid scheme for which he took the fall.

You might think this is Darla’s loss but I see it as his big fat gain. I mean the food is definitely better in jail. Probably the company too. As long as you snag a decent roommate. “Have you heard from Darla?” I ask.

“Yes!” she blubbers. “I talked to him this morning…his one phone call.”

“That was nice of him,” I say.

“I thought so. That’s why I wrote him this best-friend e-card,” she chuckled, as she whipped out her computer and dislodged the John Goodman screen-saver. The berry doesn’t fall far from the tree apparently.

The card had lots of bright pinks and yellows. Silly bunnies hovering around a freshly hatched egg. It didn’t make much sense, but it was a lot better than the salutation:

Dear Darla,

The Sun Misses You!

Love, Mom (kisses!)

“Mother!” I hollered, as though I didn’t think it was the funniest shit I had seen all day. “You should really have started it with Dear Crazy Pants…Cute pet names just turn the mood of a shitty situation upside down.”

“I’ll send him another one,” she smiles. “That is good advice.”

Just then her twitchy roommate rustles out of the bedroom. I don’t know who the fuck he thinks he is fooling. He is barely older than I am. “Thank god those Conservatives got in,” he hollers.

“Oh, Marcus, don’t even start. Scott has just about disowned us over that.”

“Well, you must like that they caught bin Laden,” he offers.

“I don’t, for one second think they caught bin Laden,” I snap. Admittedly I love a good conspiracy theory and my family will never shut up about the ‘Moon landing’, but I really don’t think that I am in the minority on this one. “You really think the government pumped billions of dollars into finding this one guy only to take a few grainy photographs and dump him over the side of a boat?!”

Then I look over at my mother and remember that this is her special day. “Well…you never know,” I concede. "You could be right."

“That’s what I thought,” laughs Twitchle. “Let’s eat.”

Another eventless Mothers’ Day. Except for the "I voted Green" sticker I put on the back of Twitchle's sweater vest. He doesn't change that often, so it should be a week before he notices.

As I pull back into the forest that has become my temporary home and decelerate the engine of my car I peer into the distance to see my own special friend, the Bear, coming to greet me. He is carrying my sleeping cat in his arms. If nothing else, this Bear has proven loyal.

I toss him some honey-ed ham I stole from dinner. He smells it, takes a bite, and, in repulsion, spits it back out onto the ground. “No shit you moved into the forest,” he says. “I’ll make breakfast in the morning.”

Things could be better, but they could also be a lot worse…I could drive a Saturn.